


Runalong Now

by Synchron



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Psychological Horror, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Vaguely Spooky, Wouldn't really call this a meet cute lmao, i'm not sure, just take it for what it is LOL, nobody look at the plotholes/inconsistencies, or something like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron
Summary: A complicated ritual performed over a summoning circle isn't the only way to invite a demon into your life. Mostly they're made, forged in hellfire. Oftentimes they are born, just like you and me. But sometimes, the imagination of a lonely child is all it takes to will one into existence.Those ones are a little harder to get rid of.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Dante (Devil May Cry)/You
Comments: 19
Kudos: 97





	Runalong Now

**Author's Note:**

> SO HERE IS MY BELATED HALLOWEENIE ONE SHOT!!! I actually started on this months ago, plucked away at it decently consistently, and then time just kept slippin', and suddenly it was halfway into October, and I wasn't finished. 🤔💦💦 It's a concept I randomly thought of one day when I remembered how much I loved to do this as a kid ljsdhf. And I know for a fact that I'm not alone. The usual shtick is that it's a protective presence, but since I wanted to get this out for Halloween, I thought why not try and put a spooky twist on it? I've never really tried writing anything overtly spooky before, and I do have doubts that I hit the mark, but I'm happy nonetheless with how this turned out.
> 
> Because now I might have a new reader character to play around with and develop. 👀👀
> 
> Also can you tell I have a penchant for tying all my written universes together? 🤣 Virgin Blood and Devil's Pact are in the same universe, and this exists in Punchy's universe sdlkfh.
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all had a fun and safe Halloween, and I hope you like this lil' one shot too! 🙏✨🎃

In that split second before impending doom, many survivors of close accidents claim that their perception of time slows for just an instant, letting them experience a surge of memories spanning their entire lives. Flickering images, still frames of a life past, moments of joy and grief and nostalgia all bundled into one concise moment. But for you, in that deep darkness, your car hurtling towards a building, what you see in front of you is a creature who holds within himself, the fires of hell. Wings spread wide. Eyes glowing from within a blackened void.

"Run along now."

Then comes the collision and the screeching crunch of steel.  
  


* * *

  
Everybody has done it; imagined a formless creature running alongside you in the car. It would dodge oncoming traffic, street lights, pedestrians - anything, really, with a swift ease just because you were bored and willed it so. For you, it was a sort of flight of fancy, something to pass the time, something to make long car trips with your parents a little less tedious. A life on the road was just as exciting as it was lonely, your only constant companion being your newly created friend. It never acknowledged you of course, but that was part of the game too, only ever staring ahead of it as it ran and ran and ran, obeying your every whimsical desire for it to leap over shrubbery, and, on occasion, even the mountains on the distant horizon during those long stretches between major cities where the plains outside your window were barren and flat. It soaked up your loneliness, every negative thought you ever had, every tear shed over a childhood constantly spent on the move with no opportunity to take root and flourish.

It took all of that upon itself, and bore it on your behalf; it was the best friend, perhaps the _only_ friend your lifestyle could maintain.

Just you and your Runalong - that's what you took to calling it, on account of that being all it ever did. Your parents never saw it. Neither did anybody else. It was a secret just for, and just between the two of you.

Despite it's constant presence in your life however, it was always wispy in your eyes - opaque and fluid, with a body that looked like curls of smoke, blown away by an imaginary breeze the second your attention was called away. Like looking into clouds, it held a discernible shape for only a fleeting moment before you lost the image in your mind's eye. Almost as if it, itself, couldn't decide what shape it wanted to take; ripples on the surface of a calm pool, always shifting and distorting what lay beneath.

But as the years passed, collective days, maybe even _weeks_ of staring out the window at your loping friend just beyond, it _did_ begin to take shape. It was elegant. Sleek. Distinctly canine, with long legs and a bristling mane that stretched down the length of its back to form a busy, flowing tail. Every new feature it emerged with was regarded with a sense of awe and wonderment; this creature that once was nothing but hazy wisps of smoke in the eyes of a small child was now a complete being. But just _how_ complete, you could never fathom, until one day, as it waited patiently at a crossing for the traffic light to turn green, tail swishing idly, it turned its head, its long neck swinging around in an almost unnatural curve.

And with a pair of beady eyes, just two flames floating inside rounded, empty sockets, it stared back at you.

From that moment on, it never ran alongside your parent's car, on a mindless journey to sate a restless mind.

From that moment on, it began to feel more like a chase.

You never looked out the window again.  
  


* * *

  
It was always there. Your Runalong. Lurking within the very edge of your vision, and always _just_ "outside". Outside the car. Outside the RV. Outside the motel window. Over time, its repertoire of skills grew from simply just running, to watching. Through cracks and windows, the flames that float inside the sockets of its eyes observing your prone and curiously still form in silence.

What comes next? After watching? When it realises it's larger, heavier, sturdier than the paltry panes of glass that separate it from you?

You lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the dark blot of ink in the corner of your eye as it shifts constantly from one side of the window to the other. Trying not to think about it.

But it was always there.

Even after the accident.

And especially after the funeral.

How many years has it been now? Twenty? More? You're not sure, because you've made it a point to only ever look forward now. Never behind you, or over your shoulder, and never _ever_ to the side, where you know it's always been, and always will be. It's bigger now, having grown right alongside you into something taller, longer, and more twisted. The silky sheen of its fur is gone, now just a patchy layer of mangy fuzz. But isn't the sight of it - the coarse mane, the white skull, the thin snout, the eerily long legs - that keeps you awake at night, from succumbing to the restless, fretful sleep you've been fielding ever since you glimpsed its crooked, lopsided smile.

It's the sound.

It's a gentle tinkling noise, like a rain of shattered glass on pavement. So light, so _quiet_ , but eerily melodic in how it falls - a constant pitter patter that keeps you company through the night, round and around the perimeter of your home, still running, even though you're not going anywhere anymore:

The sound of teeth being shed.

They grow at a constant rate, fast enough that an entirely new set will have pushed up and through, forcing the old ones out by sun down. They roll outwards like a shark's until they fall past its lips, dropping without any fanfare - why should it care when it will grow more, after all. You'd find them in the morning when you leave your home, shards of bone, wicked and curved, sometimes as long as your finger with no two ever being the same, forming a trail around your house, but congregating the most just outside your bedroom window. Because that's all it ever does; it hovers in your peripheries, as a dark, blurry splotch because you're too afraid to roll over in your bed to watch it as _it_ looks in on you at night with a thoughtful look and a treacherous smile.

At least it seems to disappear throughout the day, chased away by the light. Or so you believe. You don't quite know where it goes during the day, but it gives you a chance to catch up on the sleep you don't get at night. Which, coincidentally, is how you wound up with a job doing nightfill.

And why you're out at ungodly hours of the morning.

The streets are deserted, as they usually are at two in the morning, even despite the fact that this is one of the more populated districts of Red Grave. You sit at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn green - a completely unnecessary gesture when you're the only car on the road, but some nights, the faster you go, the more urgent you are to return home, the larger your Runalong seems to loom in your periphery. So you wait, fingers tapping a restless beat on the steering wheel, staring directly ahead of you at the long stretch of road that leads to the relative safety of your home. You're so absorbed in it, far too acclimated with only ever watching what's in front of you, you don't notice the figure that steps up to the side of your car.

A _tap tap tap_ at your window jostles you out of your trance with a sharp gasp and a muted flinch, your mind immediately associating that noise with the sound of fallen teeth - the musical patter that chases and hounds you each and every night. You recoil into yourself, shrinking, clenching the wheel until you hear the rubber strain in your hands, but still not loud enough to drown out that insidious rain–

"Uhh…"

The voice, uncertain, but undoubtedly _human,_ alerts you to the fact that what you'd heard is not the creature that runs and waits and watches. It's a man. Alone. Standing next to your car.

"You okay in there?"

Your first thought is that this man is homeless; his shirt is well worn and fraying at the sleeves, and his coat, perhaps once a brilliant shade of red has seen far better days - dirty and scuffed beyond repair at the tails. With a head of grey hair, and a jaw line that hasn't seen a razor in weeks, it's the eyes of this scruffy man that makes you realise your mistake about him; a clear cerulean that shine with an otherworldly clarity and sense of knowing. Of what, you couldn't say, but there is experience in them that you cannot fathom, and yet do not object to.

That, and the fact he has a greatsword slung across the breadth of his shoulders.

A wave of panic, distinct from the kind that's been following you for years, washes over you in a chill, and you reach for your door, locking it with an audible click. The man seems surprised at your hasty response, blinking once, twice, before realisation dawns on him that the combination of his physical stature, and your current circumstance - alone on a deserted street - is threatening. So he takes one measured step back from your car, and his free hand, the one not holding his sword in place, half rises as a sign of peace.

"Whoa, no, it's okay, I'm not– you've got the wrong idea, I just–" for whatever reason, he stops himself there, expels a breath as if to sort out and rearrange his words, and then tries again. "Just wanted to say that you might wanna try taking a different route. The road ahead is uhh… kinda occupied."

As if on cue, a wreath of red lightning sparks in the distance, flickering and casting silhouettes of two figures in motion. Accompanying an empty, resonant clang of steel on steel, you swear you can make out two voices too - a man and a woman, angry in two different ways - but you're not certain.

He follows your gaze with his own, staring down the street at the figures in the distance. "They're not gonna stop for a while, and I can't promise you won't be caught in the crossfire if you keep heading down this street, so... Please?" He turns back to you, tilts his head again, and one errant lock of hair falls over and obscures one of his eyes. But unlike before, you're not afraid of him. "Find a different way?"

"I...y-yeah, I can–" with a timid squeak, you're cut off by a distant rumble, one that shakes the ground, pitching higher and higher until your very car begins to vibrate. An explosion of red lightning lights up the sky for half a second, the scale of the surge in electricity taking out every single streetlight, every soft glow in every window, every source of your safety, and blanketing the area in a darkness so deep, so thick, that it seems to chase away light itself. With your senses momentarily blacked out, the hairs on your arms automatically rise, knowing that within the darkness is where your Runalong is most active. In the recesses of your mind, you can already hear that awful, chilling _tink_ of teeth hitting the pavement.

You need to go home.

You need to go home.

You need to go back to where there is safety and light…!

On instinct, your foot slams onto the accelerator. With a screech of tires, your car lurches forward and speeds around the corner, leaving a trail of burned rubber upon the tarmac, and a confused man in your wake. But as he opens his mouth to question aloud what the hell just happened, a freak gust of wind surges past him… no, directly _through_ him, deathly cold even in the humidity of summer, and chilling even the inhuman blood that flows through his veins.

He stares into the darkness at your receding tail lights, expression tightening, darkening, and then he hums, just once, in thought.  
  


* * *

  
You can feel it approach. Coming up on your left. A gust of cold. A patter of feet. The rain of teeth. You can never out pace it, but you will try.

You're speeding, and you know that. It's dangerous in this cramped city, with its claustrophobic winding roads, not at all like the vast open fields you remember from youth. You wish that made it harder for your Runalong to follow you, but nothing impedes it. Not the buildings that seem to close in on all sides, nor the constant smell of car exhaust. The chase is unending.

Unless…

What if your car were to careen out of control?

What if it were to hit something?

What if you were to fall into a long sleep and never awaken?

Your Runalong has been following you for so many years now, but can it follow you _everywhere_?

The answer to a problem that had been hounding you since childhood seems so simple now. Tempting and freeing.

When your car ways, first left, then right, and then starts spinning, when the steering wheel locks and centrifugal force presses you right back into the car seat, you embrace what's supposed to come next. The ringing in your ears as you lose all sense of which way is up or down or left or right, drowns out everything else, and when your car finally collides with one of the buildings along the side of the road, you find the impact isn't quite what you were expecting. Death itself is much gentler than you were expecting. But after the life you've had - with no consistency or permanence or any real nurture - maybe that's a blessing.

A mercy.

Funny that it'll be a car accident that ends your life too. Maybe you're more similar to your parents than you thought.

That comforts you a little.

A drawn out, groaning protest of steel coaxes your eyes open, where you realise you're still in your car, unharmed, if not a little dizzy. Amidst the darkness of this blackened street, you're met with orange cinders falling softly from leathery wings, illuminating your immediate surroundings. Eyes, smaller but certainly fires in their own right, stare right back at you from depths as black as night. Narrower, but no less bright, they belong to a creature you don't recognise. Not that you've seen many over the course of your life - just your Runalong, really. But this one already feels different. You don't understand how, exactly, when its exterior is comprised of hard edges and spikes you only make out due to the way he glows from within, but that oppressive aura of your constant companion isn't present in this one. It's frightening certainly, seeming to command respect, but for one thing, it's not unsettling. And for another, it just saved your life.

It holds the front of your car in one clawed hand, the hood crumpling right around it - just like it was designed to do - stopping the uncontrollable spinning and your untimely demise with just one single outstretched hand. It cocks its head at you before its body begins to dissolve in a burst of light. The pair of horns atop its head are the first to disappear, the light coursing down its body to reveal a more familiar human frame beneath it:

The man who'd knocked on your car window only minutes ago.

Even human again, his eyes still glow a bright unearthly red. The headlights of your car cast all manner of eerie shadows upon his face, but the smile that pulls at his lips doesn't alarm you.

"You know for a second, I thought you were just running away from me." He places the front end of your car back down onto the road with a strained grunt, then lightly slaps his hand onto the hood, just a gentle _pap_ in comparison to the ordeal it just went through. "Figured that was fair enough - it happens to me more than you'd think - until your little friend whizzed right by after you."

You blink slowly, perplexed, watching as he steps back up to your window again. How does he know? How does he see it?

"If it's bothering you, I can help do something about it - I specialise in that kinda thing, you know."

D-do what? What is he _talking_ about?

You don't realise you'd asked that out loud until he answers you: "Your little pest problem."

He regards you no more after that, turning his body just in time to catch your Runalong just as he did your car. It had meant to tackle him, perhaps bring him to the ground, but the man holds fast, body sliding backwards a good few feet from the force of impact. Its skull is lodged firmly underneath the man's arm, pinned to his body as he grips it by its long neck in a pseudo chokehold. It makes no sound - come to think of it, aside from the dropped teeth, and the sound of its weight on the ground, you've never heard it growl or whine. And even caught in a firm grip, it remains silent. But not obedient.

It thrashes, body violently swinging side to side in an attempt to break free, but the man only doubles down, digs his heels into the ground and tightens his hold until his arm seems to disappear into darkness, sinking right into a thick, bristling coat of fur.

"Feisty little feller, huh?" Despite how at ease his body language is, his voice is tight. Laboured. "Seems you missed a day or two of obedience training. S'alright though, I've dealt with bigger pups than you. More heads too. This'll be a walk in the park." He moves with your Runalong instead of against, following its momentum so he's never thrown off balance, but in doing so, he does hit the side of your car with a violent thud. The impact makes you shrink back, into yourself, away, as far to the opposite side as you can go when you're still buckled in, making a shrill sound you didn't know your voice box was capable of making, crying pleading words to one or _both_ of the figures wrestling outside your car.

"Please just go away–!"

"Not how that works, sweetheart." The man's voice is playfully admonishing; an odd source of comfort in all the madness. "Stop being afraid of it. You need to–" he struggles a little when your Runalong sinks low to the ground, still trying to wrench itself free, tail swishing in erratic, agitated motions. "–you need to look at it. Acknowledge it."

His other arm curls around its long neck now, and with a quiet, but oddly joyful whoop, he lifts the creature in his arms, swings it around once, twice, three times to build momentum–

"Run along now, puppy!"

–and tosses it away. Free now, it twists in the air, long serpentine body turning to brace all four paws against the building it was meant to hit. Windows shatter from the impact, bricks crumbling and falling loose, and then it too braces itself before pushing off the wall and hurtling itself back towards the man in red.

But he'd anticipated this, holding his hand out to call upon the sword you only just noticed he was no longer physically wielding. It bursts into his hand in a bout of flame, and then he winds up, leans back to balance on one foot like a batter, far too casual for the speed at which his enemy is hurling towards him at. He even shoots you a quick glance over his shoulder, winks playfully, and then swings - hard - when your Runalong is in range. Its outstretched claws never reach the man, the collision knocking it right down the blackened street where it rolls and rolls until it comes to a stop.

The lights come back on in that moment, one at a time, stretching all the way down the road and restoring this part of the city to its usual orange glow. One particular streetlight shines directly above your unmoving Runalong, now a crumbled bundle of fur that sizzles faintly in the light. You've never seen it look so feeble.

Though to be fair, you can't say you've ever really actually _seen_ it.

The man in the worn leather coat turns back toward you, heads back over to your car and stoops just low enough for him to glimpse you through the window. You stare back at him, eyes wide, body still shaking from adrenaline rather than fear. Jittery, you follow the motion of his hand where he points to the door lock, and whether it's because you're out of your mind, no longer afraid of this whimsical man in red, or both of those things, you reach across and click it open. He opens your car door for you, his sword already gone (which, again, had escaped your notice until this moment), and extends a gloved hand out to you.

"C'mon." He notices your confused blinking, flitting between his face and his hand. "It's waiting for you."

He helps you out of the car slowly, waits patiently for you to stop shaking, and with a modest hand between your shoulder blades, guides you towards the heap of smoking black fur, where teeth are still rolling from its mouth - slower now, but certainly still falling.

You feel like you're on rails. Mind vacant, moving, but not consciously; it's as if you're watching yourself move from a third person's perspective. Watching from the outside. Just like it had always done. All that's really on your mind is a flurry of questions, because even though you're physically here, walking side by side with a man who has a sword that blinks in and out of existence, you're still mentally waiting at that intersection from ten minutes ago, struggling to catch up. "What is it?" You finally ask, voice cautioned but hopeful; he did say he specialised in these sorts of things, so maybe he knows. Maybe someone can finally tell you why it's been after you for so long.

"That depends on you, actually." Understanding that his reply is vague at best, he amends. "I'm a demon hunter. Normally for the kind that cultists summon, or squeeze through holes between our worlds, but I know a thing or two about the kind that live in people too."

You turn to look at him, surprised at how far up you have to crane your head to do it. "In people?"

"Yeah," his voice is quieter as he says this. More subdued in tone and mood, "you know. People's inner demons. I couldn't say what aspect of yourself you poured into that thing just from looking at it, but whatever it was, it grew because of it - it's actually not something many people can do. That makes you special."

Maybe it's the cumulative exhaustion, the lack of sleep, the lack of anybody and anything in your life, the _loneliness_ , but hearing that - even from a complete stranger - makes tears prick the corners of your eyes. "Me?"

"Yup." You're both approaching your Runalong now, and when it senses you're getting closer, its tail moves, just once, flicking across the road it lies on. Is it eager? Excited? You don't know, because its tail never moves again. "You wanted something bad enough that you gave it form. Gave it life. And all it ever really wanted was to go back to you." The man scratches at his jaw, fingers grazing the stubble that peppers his chin. "But well, all people know to do is run from what scares them. Usually until they can't run anymore."

You swallow at that, around a painful lump in your throat that refuses to budge, remaining silent because you understand precisely what it is that he isn't saying; the meaning in words unsaid. You just hang your head, and let that large hand at your back guide you forward until you're looking down at what used to be a source of comfort for your lonelier childhood days. It lies on its side, breathing shallowly and watching you in silence just as its always done, with one dying flame. The reassuring weight at your back lifts away, prompting you to look back up at the man, and beneath the bright streetlight above, you notice he's smiling. Softly, gently. He urges you one final time, but this time not with touch - just a nod in your Runalong's direction. He doesn't have the right to physically force you; this is something you need to decide on your own.

So you do.

There's clear hesitance in the way you're moving, but however slowly, you come to kneel next to its head. It watches that too, nudging a little closer until the tip of its snout, a now cracking skull - worn like a helmet, you notice at last - touches you. Images flash before your eyes when it does. All of you. As a child in a clunky RV, staring out the window. First in awe, in hope, in joy.

Then in fear.

Then not at all.

Then never again.

Flash after flash, you see your own back turned toward you. Toward _it_. For years and years and years until it forgot what you looked like.

"You were lonely." You breathe aloud, the realisation so vindicating, so freeing, overcoming you that the tears you blinked away before fall freely now. " _You_ were lonely. Because I made you that way. And it was all you knew."

With trembling hands you reach out, at first touching its fur with only the very tips of your fingers, feeling for the first time how surprisingly soft it is. Your entire palm follows shortly after, sinking right into a coat so full and thick that your hand disappears within its mane where you stroke softly against a warm body. It sidles closer to you, lifting its head to rest upon your thighs where it commits the image of your face to its memory before the paltry flame that now burns in its eyes dies out. Black fur slips from between your fingers as it sheds its entire coat in seconds, body dissipating into shadow and dispersing along the ground. The skull in your lap is the last thing to go before it crumbles into a fine sand, oddly warm to the touch, and soothing in its feel. But when a breeze kicks up, even that disappears too, and suddenly you're cold again.

And, surprisingly: lonely.

"Loneliness, huh?" Behind you, the man speaks up, wistful and nostalgic. "Yeah, that'd do it. But it isn't so bad, is it - facing those parts of yourself." To you, those words, his cadence, belie a personal experience. A well of complexity that stretches deep, but is not in your place to ask about. "Makes you stronger."

"Stronger…" you echo, staring down at the empty space in your lap.

"Yeah." Even though he's looking down at you from his impressive height, you never once get the feeling that he's being arrogant about it; he's far too lax for that. "And like I said before, you're special. Not everyday you meet someone who can conjure up a whole living being with nothing but _emotion_. You should work on that. Might be able to bring it back if you wanted."

"I could?" Your gaze turns owlish, curious; childlike and hopeful. It's the first time you've been assertive in months. "How?"

"Well–" he begins, holding his hand out to you one last time. You take it, feeling him pull you, effortlessly, onto your feet where you nearly stumble right into his chest. He doesn't let go of your hand though, merely adjusting his grip before he gives it a firm shake.

"–I'm Dante, first of all. We can start there."

**Author's Note:**

> Also when Vergil finally does meet up with Dante again, his clothes are slightly askew, and not in the way that normally results from a fight. 👀 Dante's just like "dude seriously....."


End file.
